When I First Met My Husband, It Was Hate At First Sight

We started off as enemies. You can probably guess the rest.

By
Nora Zelevansky

May 10, 2016

Rachel Leonard

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For those of you who―like me―came of age on a steady diet of romantic comedies, you'll recognize this as a classic love story opening. Hate is just the opposite side of love's coin; I learned that from watching When Harry Met Sally and Moonlighting andfrom reading Pride & Prejudice and The Taming of the Shrew.

Total disdain is a perfectly normal emotion to experience when you first look into the eyes of your future life partner―right?

From experience I'd say yes. And no.

Even beyond our first impressions, my husband Andrew and I have a shared origin story that mirrors one of those romantic comedies: In the early 2000s, I was working―like every L.A. twenty-something then―at a flashy Internet startup, staffed with mostly tattooed creative types. Our particular company was called Nibblebox (yes, for real; no, not a porn site) and developed "irreverent" content with "innovative" new filmmakers. Like many, the fledgling venture existed in a state of flux―intermittently flush, then broke. During a lean period one April, we merged with another entity.

Enter Andrew, the last remaining L.A. staff member from the other company.

I can't say that we had a "meet cute," bumping our heads on the copier at the same time or something similarly and adorably clumsy. In fact, we remember our first encounter differently: Andrew claims that I blew him off, barely deigning to look up from my computer. I remember shaking his hand in a sociable way, despite his "corporate honcho"-style blue button-down and slacks. Regardless of who started it, there was tension from the get-go. After work that day, my friend, Rachel, asked, "How's the new guy?" I shrugged: "He's kind of an a-hole. But he has nice lips."

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That should have been my first clue.

Courtesy of Nora Zelevansky

Things went from bad to worse. It probably didn't help that no one ever informed me that Andrew had been hired as my supervisor; I thought he was just bossy! Looking back, I can't believe I spoke to any coworker the way I spoke to him. But how high is the expectation of professionalism when most of the staff is hungover daily and debating the merits of shows titled "Spatula City" and "Sorority Crime Fighters" (starring an undiscovered Rachel Bilson BTW)?

Andrew and I fought about internal documents that no one would ever see. I shamed him for drinking carrot juice like a soft L.A. dude and for driving an expensive Audi that I said "looked like a Kia." I complained about him incessantly to anyone who would listen. He called me a "superficial snob" and actually even asked the CEO if I was "necessary."

That all changed in August, when we were forced to attend our first film festival together. My job had originally been to develop scripts with writers; suddenly, I'd been turned into an acquisitions executive, negotiating contracts to buy short films. I was clueless, but afraid to admit it for fear of being fired. When I arrived at my Palm Springs hotel room, I called my sister crying: "I can't believe I'm stuck here with him!"

But then something unexpected happened: Andrew helped me. He realized that I was out of my depth and―despite disliking me intensely―he pulled me aside and spent an hour coaching me that afternoon. Throughout that week, we were forced to spend a lot of time together, meeting to discuss films and the status of negotiations. He says now that he realized I had a sense of humor about myself. I realized that he was a good guy. Only someone kind would have helped me despite his intense dislike.

I complained about him incessantly to anyone who would listen.

On the festival's closing night, he invited me to come to a filmmaker party with another male coworker from New York. I came down looking, I thought, pretty good in a tight top and jeans. "Ready?" he asked, not even glancing my way. Why did I even notice? We had a great time that night, laughing and talking. Then, as we drove home, the three of us started talking about our romantic tendencies. "I don't date Jewish women," Andrew said. "Not by design; I just never do." For some reason, the comment stung. Yes, I'm Jewish (and so is he). But why should I care who he dates?

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Over the next months, a lot happened: 9/11, for one thing, which made us all reassess. With more layoffs, our department thinned out. Suddenly, it was just the two of us, alone in the office, working late, spending most of the time talking about our lives: our families, our exes, our best and worst moments.

By early winter, I finally had to admit the terrible truth to my friend Rachel: I had a crush on the a-hole at work. "What?!" she yelped. "But I'm so confused! I thought we hated him?" I thought maybe he liked me too, but I was getting mixed signals. He called me "wonderful" and flirted, but he also avoided touching me at all costs. When I invited him to my birthday party, he demurred, saying that I'd have more fun without my boss around. (I was so thrown by that exchange that I climbed into my car and crashed it into a pole in front of him; that probably remains one of his favorite life moments.) And, when we said goodbye for the winter holidays, he told me was going to a wedding in Atlanta for New Year's Eve. "Southern chicks," he winked, then climbed into his car and drove away. What???

In January, the office was abuzz as we readied for the Sundance Film Festival. On top of that, we had lost our receptionist and assistant. (And by that I mean that someone actually fired an unpaid intern.) Andrew brought in his friend, Becky, to help out as a temp. She was adorable, quirky and, yes, a plant―central casting. Andrew did indeed like me, despite his odd pre-holiday joke, but he was unsure of my feelings and terrified of making me uncomfortable as "that creepy boss guy." Becky was to befriend me to find out how I felt about him and my job. (He thought maybe I was ready to leave, as I kept closing my office door for what he rightly suspected were telephone job interviews.)

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Becky and I quickly became friends (I'm an easy mark). "I think I want to be a writer," I confessed one day as we sat on the sun drenched steps outside. (Reader, this is where I should probably confess that I did, in fact, become a writer. My second novel, Will You Won't You Want Me?, just came out.)

In a twist befitting the beginning of any good third act, I had also started to believe that Andrew was interested in Becky. They spent so much time together, talking secretly and giggling.

One night, right before Sundance, I was feeling really low. Rachel was busy with her boyfriend; my other close friends lived far away. Out of options, I decided to call an ex-boyfriend and meet him at a neighborhood bar. I knew it was a bad idea the moment he arrived. I didn't feel better; I felt pathetic. As I began to drown my sorrows in my first beer, I heard my name and looked up. There was Andrew, and I couldn't believe how happy I felt to see him. I went outside with him to meet his friend, and we talked for a few before they left. When I returned, my ex-boyfriend looked annoyed: "Who is that guy?" he asked. I explained that he was my boss. "Well, he likes you," the ex grumbled. I couldn't help but smile.

Andrew and I went to Sundance alone together, a day of travel which only cemented our tightness. That night, he took me to dinner with one of his former colleagues, and we sat next to each other, our legs touching. Did he feel it? Had he noticed? At drinks later that night, I finally confessed that I was ready to leave the job. He didn't act surprised; he just listened.

Courtesy of Nora Zelevansky

The next days were filled with screenings, meetings, parties and drives through the mountains. I wore heavy sweaters and cute snow boots and drank blue cocktails from plastic cups. Outside one party at about 3 AM, after many late nights and early mornings, Andrew suggested that I get some rest instead of continuing to the next event. I was touched by his concern. We huddled inside a van and, when I complained of being cold, he put his arm around me. That didn't seem very boss-like.

Back at the house, we found ourselves alone. We stood outside in the snow for a bit, just talking. Then, inside, as we got set to retire to our respective bedrooms, the subject of my leaving the company came up again.

"I hope you leave," he admitted.

"Why?" I asked.

He smiled shyly. "Because I'd like to take you on a date."

Then he kissed me. We've been together ever since.

I'm not going to lie: In reality, there are challenges to having started off as enemies. Even in that honeymoon phase, adversarial banter was the nature of our rapport. In many ways, that dynamic has kept life interesting and both of us laughing. But there have definitely been moments when we've had to learn to be gentler with each other. The truth is that it's not always kind to tease someone, even flirtatiously. Part of the job of a romantic partner is to build the other person up, not tear them down. At some point, we had to grow up a little.

So, I see our courtship as a kind of episode one, and I feel lucky to have had that first happy ending (get your mind out of the gutter!). Hopefully, there are many more to come.

Zelevansky is the author of a new novel,Will You Won't You Want Me?, in which the protagonist, Marjorie, has contentious relationships with not one but two potential love interests.

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